Packer students in NYC

Would you like to get in touch with Packer students of Spanish in New York?

It would be great for San Patricio students to get in touch with them either through their blog or school website.

Enjoy!

Una tarde en el Hogar San Agustín

No puedo no contarles la experiencia que vivimos con Sofía la tarde del jueves con los alumnos de 9º año. El colegio nos pidió que acompañáramos a Rosa María a una convivencia con niños de ese hogar.

Nuestros alumnos debían llevar el almuerzo para compartir y al momento de colocar las cosas sobre la mesa, el escándalo estalló porque cada uno sentía que lo que llevaba era único y sólo suyo.

El impacto fue impresionante cuando vieron que el hogar nos recibía con gran alegría y además 50 pizzas para compartir...por supuesto, las cosas sobraron para la merienda de los niños.

Así fue pasando la tarde: con un texto que Rosa María les había preparado, actividades a través de las cuales podían descubrir y observar al otro, un video con un hermoso ejemplo de vida mostrado por el sacerdote del lugar y luego una oración en la pequeña capilla donde se logró un clima de total silencio, reflexión y ¡hasta agradecimiento por todo lo que habíamos aprendido esa tarde!

Para entenderlo mejor, comparto el texto que trabajamos:

OJOS PARA VER

El maestro dio una orden extraña al discípulo: "Tráeme un gato negro con la cola blanca. Sólo entonces podrás seguir el curso como discípulo mío". El discípulo se lanzó a la búsqueda. Lo que más le interesaba era continuar en la escuela del maestro cuya dirección aseguraba el progreso espiritual y la iluminación definitiva. Llevaba ya años a su servicio. ¿Cómo podía hechar a perder todo eso? Había que encontrar a toda costa un gato negro con la cola blanca. Y salió en su busca.

Vio muchos gatos. Vio gatos negros con cola negra, y gatos blancos con cola blanca, y gatos de mezclas de colores; los vio de día y los vio de noche, los vio de cerca y los vio de lejos, y muchas veces creyó haber encontrado el ejemplar que buscaba, pero nunca resultó ser así. Pasaron los días. Pasaron mil gatos. Pero no pasó ante su mirada un solo gato negro con la cola blanca.

Volvió a su maestro y confesó su fracaso. El maestro escuchó con paciencia. Mientras escuchaba, acariciaba el gato de la escuela que correteaba a placer por todos los rincones y se refugiaba a ratos en el regazo del maestro como un discípulo más. El maestro escuchó al discípulo y no dijo nada. Sólo siguió acariciando al gato. La mirada del discípulo bajó del rostro del maestro al cuerpo del gato, y luego del gato a la cola. Era un gato negro con la cola blanca. Era el gato de siempre, el del maestro, el de la escuela. Mil veces lo había visto...pero nunca lo había visto. Esa era la lección. Lo tenemos delante de los ojos y no lo vemos. Aprendamos a ver.

En fin, creo que hay que crear los espacios para poder ver y sentir con el otro, ésto también es un aprendizaje que hay que ejercitar... y nuestros alumnos son absolutamente capaces de hacerlo.

¡Gracias a Rosa María , los preceptores que acompañaron: Pichi y Gustavo y al sacerdote que removió nuestro interior!

Nora Gelsi

A two-and-a-half minute present to 3rd Polimodal Class 2007

Time of Your Life ~ Green Day with lyrics!!!

Recreational afternoon for Student’s Day

For Student’s Day we had another recreational afternoon on September 19th. Ricky gave a great speech to the whole student body and the final part of it was dedicated to 3rd polimodal. After that, one teacher gave each of us some sweets and a little card with a phrase saying that it was our last Student’s Day at school and with the a task or skill that characterizes us. Then the kids from the other grades received their sweets and the singers of the school sang a couple of songs from High School Musical. All the school sung with them and we were all a choir singing ‘We’re all in this together’.

Then the games started. We were not divided in colors, but in the different grades. After all the sports and games, we played ‘musical lottery’ and we danced every song in our chart with teachers and students altogether. 1st polimodal was the winner of the sweets. Finally we ended our afternoond with some Coke.

It was another recreational afternoon feeling all like a family and sharing with people. But the sensation being in the same team with people from different grades made us feel more united.

The following day the celebration went on with ice-cream and Coke in the afternoon break.

Recreational afternoon for Teacher’s Day “Horacio Campero”

On September 17th the new Student Council organized Teacher’s Day celebration. It was a new experience for everybody, new activities and a lot of fun. We felt we were all a huge family and really felt part of the school. The afternon brought so much joy with a satire, the Color Festival, dance, presents, Cokes and medialunas.
The afternoon started with teachers and students getting dressed in the teachers room and some curious eyes looking through the window.

Our dear Ricky said some beautiful words before the performance.






For the satire some students imitated the most outstanding features of some teachers dressed like and talking like them. The teachers acted as students doing what we usually do in class: eat a lollypop, talk, swing in the chair, read a magazine... The whole school laughed a lot and we thought that people would talk and would not pay attention, but it was the other way round: everybody was silent, listening to what we were doing and saying and laughing at every single move! After the satire, Ayelén Ormaechea gave a great speech to the teachers and we gave a present to every teacher of the school.

We went to school with a t-shirt of our color: blue, red or yellow and we lived again the enthusiam of the Color Festival of the Primary School. There were some games and we were in teams of each color. People from different grades and a same color got together and competed against other color, not just one grade against the other as usual. That made us feel close to people we never had the chance to share something with.

Then we all got together at different tables to have some Coke, medialunas and cakes made by kids from the school. After that students and teachers danced together a lot! A couple of boys from 2nd polimodal were in the role of entertainers with the microphone, which made people enjoy the afternoon a lot more.

The whole celebration of Teacher’s Day was great as we all had fun, we all shared with people from different grades and teachers and we felt we all belonged to the same family. That’s how we should feel every day and for the first time, we've felt it. We spent an afternoon different from every other and we remembered our dear Horacio on this day.

Weekend Plans!!!

SPRING PARTY AND STUDENTS DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

.

.

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 21

.

.

.

SANTO DOMINGO 1150 (ENTRANCE THROUGH 3º TIEMPO)

.

.

Organized by CLASS OF 2008

.

SOLEDAD *

Algunas veces perdía el control sobre las cosas y hasta llegaba a pensar que nunca lo recuperaría. Esos eran momentos de una angustia tan profunda que no podía reconocer su origen ¿Era la frustración de haber perdido un amor? ¿Era la Soledad la que apresaba y oprimía su corazón?

A pesar de las dificultades que le ocasionaba convivir con esta nostalgia, todo continuaba. Parecía como si su vida fuera un tren que seguía el camino de sus vías, y que su destino ya fuese conocido. Pero, ¿por qué no resistirse a éste?.

En un momento de desesperación y vacío total salió en busca de ella. Soledad. Ese nombre daba vueltas en su cabeza desde la primera vez que la vio. (Su eterno amor). En fin, salió. Sin rumbos. Sin direcciones. Con un objetivo: reencontrarse con su Soledad ¿Era suya? ¿Fue amor?

Soledad había sido, probablemente la única persona capaz de romper la rutina tediosa que todos los días de su vida llevaba Nicodemus. Una rutina que lo había llevado a aislarse de su familia, de su mascota y de sus amigos. Él vivía para ella ¿O para él?

Recorrió toda la ciudad bajo la lluvia imperiosa. Buscó en todos los lugares donde habían ido juntos en épocas florecientes. Ella era conocida por gran parte del barrio y de la ciudad, (él no conocía a nadie más que a ella). No se detuvo ni a preguntar si había sido vista, ni para comer, ni para fumar su pequeña pipa. Estaba determinado a cumplir con su meta. Al fin y al cabo, era el amor de su vida. Nicodemus sentía profundamente que ella estaba hecha para él, a su medida. E indudablemente esto era así. Nadie hubiese cuestionado que estaban compuestos de la misma sustancia.

Sin embargo, la teoría de Nicodemus parecía no cerrar, puesto que ya estaba perdiendo esperanzas, luego de estar toda una noche husmeando la ciudad en busca de su Soledad. Lo único que lo mantenía de pie y con ánimo era la imagen de ella en su cabeza. Ese era su motor de vida.

Salió el sol. Cesó la tormenta. El amanecer renovó las esperanzas de Nicodemus. Su ardua búsqueda continuó. Con la cabeza en alto y su cuerpo erguido, caminaba observando todo lo que lo rodeaba. Pero cuanto más lejos buscaba, más difícil iba a ser que la encontrara. Desistió. Pateando una lata de gaseosa con bronca y angustia, se dirigió a un banco de la plaza principal. Se sentó y agachó su cabeza con una amarga resignación. El sol estaba más picante que nunca.

La luz le hizo ver las cosas más claras. La debía encontrar. Si ella le pertenecía. Si ella iba a todas partes con él. Si no se podían despegar. Si habían llegado a formar un solo cuerpo, una sola alma. Soledad era parte de él. Este razonamiento lo llevó a una respuesta que iba a ser la acertada. No tenía que buscar lejos suyo, ni seguir caminando y caminando. Soledad estaba más cerca de lo que imaginaba.

Levantó la mirada y observó con detenimiento su sombra. Había tomado una extraña forma que de a ratos le era conocida ¿Sería el efecto del sol? ¿Sería su estado de somnolencia? ¿Sería el deseo de reencontrarse con su Soledad? No, indefectiblemente era ella. (Su sombra tenía nombre).

Una reflexión...

Duele amar a alguien y no ser correspondidos, pero lo que es más doloroso es amar a alguien y nunca encontrar el valor para decirle a esa persona lo que sientes. Tal vez Dios quiere que nosotros conozcamos a unas cuantas personas equivocadas antes de conocer a la persona correcta, para que al fin cuando la conozcamos, sepamos ser agradecidos por ese maravilloso regalo. Una de las cosas más tristes de la vida es cuando conocesa alguien que significa todo y solo para darte cuenta que al final, no era para ti y lo tienes que dejar ir. Cuando la puerta de la felicidad se cierra, otra puerta se abre, pero algunas veces miramos tanto tiempo a aquella puerta que se cerró, que no vemos la que se ha abierto frente a nosotros. Es cierto que no sabemos lo que tenemos hasta que lo perdemos, pero también es cierto queno sabemos lo que nos hemos estado perdiendo hasta que lo encontramos. Darle a alguien todo tu amor nunca es un seguro de que te corresponderán, pero no esperes quete correspondan; solo espera que el amor crezca en el corazón de la otra persona, pero si no crece sé feliz porque creció en el tuyo. Hay cosas que te encantaríaoír que nunca escucharás de la persona que te gustaría que te las dijera, pero no seas tan sorda(o) para no oírlas de aquel que las dice desde su corazón. Nunca digas adiós si todavía quieres tratar. Nunca te des por vencida(o) si sientes que puedes seguir luchando. Nunca le digas a una persona que ya no la amas si nopuedes dejarla ir. El amor llega a aquel que espera, aunque lo hallan decepcionado; a aquel que aun cree, aunque haya sido traicionado; a aquel que todavía necesite amar, aunque antes haya sido lastimado; y a aquel que tiene el coraje y la fe para construir la confianza de nuevo. El principio del amor es dejar que aquellos que conocemos sean ellos mismos, y no tratarlosde voltear con nuestra propia imagen, porque entonces solo amaremos el reflejo de nosotros mismos en ellos. No vayas por el exterior, este te puede engañar; no vayas por las riquezas porque aun eso se pierde; ve poralguien que te haga sonreír, porque toma tan solo unasonrisa para hacer que un día oscuro brille. Espero queencuentres a aquella persona que te haga sonreír. Hay momentos en los que extrañas a una persona tanto que quieres sacarla de tus sueños y abrazarla con todas tus fuerzas. Espero que sueñes con ese alguien especial. Sueña lo que quieras soñar; ve adonde quierasir; se lo que quieras ser; porque tienes tan solo una vida y una oportunidad para hacer todo lo que quieras hacer. Espero que tengas; suficiente felicidad para hacerte dulce; suficientes pruebas para hacerte fuerte;suficiente dolor para mantenerte humana(o);suficienteesperanza para ser feliz y suficiente dinero para comprarregalos. Las personas más felices no siempre tienen lomejor de todo; solo sacan lo mejor de todo lo que encuentran en su camino. La felicidad espera por aquellos que lloran, aquellos que han sido lastimados,aquellos que buscan, aquellos que tratan. Porque solo ellos pueden apreciar la importancia de laspersonas que han tocado sus vidas. El amor comienza con una sonrisa, crece con un beso y muere con una lágrima. La brillantez del futuro será basada en un pasado olvidado. No puedes ir feliz por la vida hasta que dejes ir tus fracasos pasados y los dolores de tu corazón. Cuando naciste, tu llorabas y todos alrededor sonreían, vive tu vida de forma quecuando mueras tú sonrías, y todos alrededor lloren.

La solidaridad, el mundo y la fe. El Siglo XX y XXI conjugados desde la caridad.

La solidaridad, el mundo y la fe.

El Siglo XX y XXI conjugados desde la caridad.

Antes de todo quisiera exponer ante todos Ustedes cuáles son mis objetivos y a dónde quiero apuntar realmente con este trabajo. Por un lado, quiero mostrar que nuestra historia y nuestro siglo no son solo una gran mala noticia sino también que hay mucho optimismo por doquier y que solo es cuestión de agudizar la mirada. Por otro lado presentar la solidaridad como una herramienta de cambio, pero no una revolución a nivel mundial, sino que cada uno de nosotros en su ambiente (entre nuestros pares y entre aquellos que pertenecen a otras clases sociales) la implemente y con cada granito de arena cambiar al menos nuestra realidad cotidiana.

No quiero que se mal interprete: no pienso que todos debemos ser buenos y amarnos uno al otro, aunque sería lo óptimo, sería muy iluso de mi parte. El ser humano es solidario como egoísta por naturaleza, y no lo puedo ni podemos negar.

Es así como, para comenzar, quiero hacer referencia a la habitual retórica de preguntas y respuestas, me pregunto ¿qué es la solidaridad? A la hora de responder, quiero centrar la atención en dos ideas: La primera, dada por Alejandro Sarbach, quien la define como “aquel valor presente en las conductas de asistencia, colaboración o ayuda que se dan fundamentalmente entre iguales”. Continuando en su exposición, sostiene que es, por tanto, un valor que está reñido con las jerarquías, el mando o el autoritarismo. Así, la solidaridad exige canales de participación activa, concluyendo que la solidaridad es un valor o una virtud. La segunda, expresada por la Madre Teresa, quien definió el concepto de “solidaridad” desde su mayor fuerza y fuente de inspiración, Dios: “Es ayudarnos los unos a los otros. Ya Cristo lo dijo: Lo que hagas con el último de tus hermanos lo estás haciendo conmigo. Esa es la solidaridad. Así, cuando él llegue a nosotros, podrá decirnos: Tuve hambre y me disteis de comer, tuve sed y me disteis de beber, fui forastero y me recogisteis, estuve desnudo y me cubristeis, enfermé y me visitasteis (…)”

Estas son tan solo dos maneras de definir una idea tan compleja tal vez de comprender como lo es la “solidaridad”. Cada cita dada anteriormente es diferente ya que observamos que la primera de ellas está escrita desde un ángulo jerarquizado y no entre todos los ciudadanos, independientemente de su respectiva clase social. La segunda puede resultar un poco desconcertante para algunos, especialmente para aquellas personas que no adhieren a la fe Cristiana y así podrían tranquilamente preguntarse ¿Qué ocurre cuando tus principios no son los de Dios? Y mi respuesta sería tal vez que no necesitamos creer en el Dios de la Madre Teresa y de muchas religiones sino creer que el otro nos necesita de verdad porque sufre hambre, o frío o una enfermada terminal. Y es que, en este sentido, como dice Buda, todo hombre, más allá de sus creencias y su fe, no puede evitar la enfermedad, la soledad y la muerte en algún momento de su vida. De este modo, podemos y debemos ayudar al prójimo, tal como quisiésemos nosotros que nos ayudasen si fuésemos quienes están sintiendo a flor de piel la miseria.

Pero ¿por qué hablo de que es nuestro deber? Y es aquí donde deseo centrarme en la idea de los Derechos Humanos, aquellos que todos, sin exclusión alguna, poseemos, tal como lo manifiestan los Artículos 1 y 2 de la Declaración Universales de los Derechos Humanos: “Todos los seres humanos nacen libres e iguales en dignidad y derechos y, dotados como están de razón y conciencia, deben comportarse fraternalmente los unos con los otros. Y todas las personas poseen los derechos de igualdad y libertad sin distinción alguna de raza, color, sexo, idioma, religión, opinión política o de cualquier otra índole, origen nacional o social, posición económica, nacimiento o cualquier otra condición”.

Ahora bien, pensemos: vivimos en un tiempo histórico que sufre las consecuencias de Dos Guerras mundiales, de tres gobiernos totalitarios muy bien marcados, causantes de un gran sufrimiento humano. El estallido de la Guerra Fría que significo, aparte de un conflicto bilateral entre la URSS y EE.UU, la creación y utilización de las armas nucleares; y frente a esta amenaza la aparición de movimientos de protesta, tales como los “Hippies” y los “Punks”, que buscaban tener el mundo a sus pies, la determinación de las grandes potencias que todavía hoy manejan lo que conocemos como “mundo globalizado”, la independencia de la mayoría de los países africanos, asiáticos y americanos, la primer revolución pacífica liderada por Mahatma Gandhi , el mayor proceso tecnológico-científico que la humanidad ha experimentando desde su creación, la muerte y la desdicha, el hambre y las armas – el sufrimiento y la venganza. Tal vez olvidó más de un acontecimiento del siglo anterior pero creo que estas citas son más que suficientes como para comprender que nos ha dejado una carga difícil de conllevar en nuestros hombros; tal vez una carga que nos cuesta comprender y más a nosotros, los jóvenes, que hasta la Guerra de Vietnam, nos ha de parecer acontecimiento que forma parte de la prehistoria, como bien ha dicho Eric Howsbawn en su libro de Historia del Siglo XX.

Pero hay una verdad que muchas veces es olvidada, sí el mundo del siglo anterior sólo fue una gran era de catástrofes ¿Cómo sobrevivió? Y la respuesta es muy complicada pero a la vez muy sencilla.No sólo existían abusadores de los derechos humanos, potencias que competían por poseer las mejores armas nucleares, sino también existían aquellas personas cuyos ideales, principios o tal vez expectativas iban más allá de la generalidad. Personas que buscaban el bien común de todos, más allá de la raza, de la religión, de la diversidad. Personas que soñaban y luchaban por un mundo diferente y no utópico.

Son muchas estas personas, o tal vez no son tantas a fin de cuentas, pero de ellas hemos aprendido como se lucha por lo que creemos y deseamos. Hoy en día necesitamos de sus ejemplos ya que las guerras no han finalizado y cada vez son más crueles e inhumanas.

De todos ellos, he elegido algunas cuyos pensamientos nos permiten creer que nuestros “sueños” de solidaridad entre todos no son sólo ficciones utópicas, sino sumamente reales y posibles.

En este sentido, comienzo refiriéndome a Mahatma (“alma grande”) Ghandi, quien empieza su lucha en 1912 en la India, lucha en defensa de los derechos de los hindúes contra los ingleses. Su lucha fue pasiva, sin violencia, tan sólo utilizando recursos que no se traducían en muerte, ni pérdida. Gracias a esta acción, logró liberar a su pueblo en 1948, encontrándose ascético y frugal, pero jamás doblegado. Ghandi fue asesinado por un extremista hindú en el mismo año en el que llevaba al plano de la verdad su sueño.

Así, también podemos reflexionar sobre la figura de Martin Luther King, quien luchó, poniendo la otra mejilla y postulando la no violencia y por la igualdad entre todos los seres humanos, sin importar cuál fuese su color de piel. En su famoso discurso “Yo tuve un sueño..”, él predica “(..) He soñado un sueño en el que mis cuatro hijos pequeños vivirán un día en una nación en donde no serán juzgados por el color de su piel, sino por el contenido de su carácter y por sus obras”. El también fue asesinado por la intolerancia en 1968. Sin embargo, sus asesinos no lograron dar muerte a su mensaje que vive entre todos y cada día es más fuerte.

Y por último la Madre Teresa de Calcuta: Monja albanesa que vivió y murió en la calle más miserable de la India y tal vez del mundo, entregada a saciar el hambre y mitigar el sufrimientos de los pobres, los enfermos y los sin esperanza. El mundo la amó porque no tan solo tenía uno de los corazones más grandes que se haya conocido en la historia, sino también porque dio su vida y su amor a absolutamente todos, sin exclusiones.

Ahora bien no debemos irnos muy lejos ni excavar en la historia para comprender y percibir cual es la verdadera esencia de la solidaridad. Solo debemos abrir intensamente los ojos y el alma y observar a nuestro alrededor. Yo lo hice y vi más de lo que creía encontrar y encontré esperanzas por doquier.

Así comprendí que la verdadera definición de solidaridad y caridad está en cada recolecta que realizamos y se realiza en los colegios con el fin de juntar alimentos, ropas, juguetes, útiles, libros para aquellas escuelitas rurales en las afueras de la ciudad y para los barrios mas carenciados de Tucumán. La siento al leer sobre las actividades de UNICEF, Rombo Rojo, CARITAS, entre otras o de aquellas pequeñas Asociaciones u Organizaciones barriales o provinciales que poseen el famoso “voluntariado” a través del cual una gran cantidad de personas, más de las que creemos, dan su tiempo y corazón o posesiones por los que sufren de frío, hambre, perdidas varias, SIDA u alguna otra enfermedad terminal, catástrofes naturales, desdicha, tristeza.

Puedo ver solidaridad cuando mis amigos me cuentan de sus emprendimientos misioneros con sus respectivas Iglesias, sus visitas a barrios para proveerle a los más pequeños con apoyo escolar o que el viernes que viene van a pasar la noche en una placita jugando y cenando con los que tienen que ir a vender “mentitas” para poder comprar el almuerzo de mañana.

Y sí hay una verdad que no podemos omitir es la que no sólo damos sino también recibimos. Porque cada vivencia, cada compartir con el que está junto a mí, cada visita y cada mirada nos enseña y nos enriquece el alma. Y ese sentimiento es incomparable. Es único.

Tal vez nos cuesta ser optimistas en este mundo caracterizado por una inhumanidad despreciable y perdemos así todo tipo de razón para continuar peleando por lo que queremos. A mi me sucedió y sucede, y cuando es así me aferró a una idea. La idea de FE.

Fe en la sonrisa de un niño, de un amigo, de una madre, de un profesor, de un anciano, de un abuelo. Intento vivir con la fe a flor de piel no sólo en quienes somos sino también en la persona que junto a mi está. Creo y sé que somos muchos en el mundo los que queremos combatir la crueldad y el sufrimiento y que ninguna guerra o gran potencia nos guitaran la fe en la construcción de la solidaridad entre naciones, pueblos y humanos.

Crearte , Imaginarte - Sin sentirte, Sin Mirarte * *

Te hubiera besado de mil formas diferentes

Si hubiera sabido que jamás iba a volver a sentir tus labios sobre mí.

Cerrar los ojos y recordarte que nunca más te tendré me enloquece.

Y hoy extraño tu risa,

Y tu mirada se convierte en mi suspiro

Y tus caricias se sienten tan lejanas . .

¿Por qué te pude tener a mi par haciéndome tan feliz para luego saborear la perdida en un adiós?

¿Por qué la vida sacia mis deseos y luego me engaña con el rumbo de mis lágrimas?

Te quiero llorar porque cada día que vivo pierdo una esperanza más y abro los ojos para descubrir que ingenuamente te fuiste. ¿Por qué lo hiciste?

El dolor me hace infeliz, los recuerdos me atosigan el corazón.

Ya no puedo respirar, las lágrimas se convirtieron en mis pulmones

La impotencia es mi razón de vivir Y los recuerdos son mi manera de ser.

Desearía poder viajar y escuchar tu voz por tan solo un momento,

Decirte que te quiero, Que te extraño,

Que te sueño y anhelo.

Te beso en mi creatividad ,

Y te acaricio en mi imaginación.

Amo mi Argentina *

Amo mi Argentina .

Cuanto nos cuesta salir con la camiseta a gritar por nuestro país cuando no todo es un triunfo.

Cuanto nos cuesta decir "orgullosamente argentino soy" cuando no se juega un mundial, ni una Copa Davis ni tampoco las Olimpiadas.

Cuanto nos cuesta ponernos la celeste y blanca cuando hay que poner fuerzas para que nuestro país no caiga en default y la miseria no este al orden del día.

Cuanto nos cuesta no criticar, no insultar cuando no todo sale como uno quiere que salga.

Cuanto nos cuesta cantar el Himno Nacional como cantaríamos una canción de nuestra banda preferida

Y ponernos la escarapela no solo en las fechas patrias porque el colegio nos obliga sino en todo momento y por voluntad propia.

Cuanto nos cuesta reconocer que las grandes figuras de la Historia de nuestro país ya han muerto y nadie ha tomado su lugar.

Ya no hay más líderes que busquen el bien común, que quieran una Argentina triunfal, próspera y humana por sobre todas las cosas.

No hay más utopías. No hay más buenas noticias.

Solo hay llantos, corrupción y una desesperación multiplicada por 37 millones.

Cuanta bronca da cuando uno ve llantos y lamentos porque nuestra selección no ha pasado a semifinales de la Copa del Mundo pero cuando hay inseguridad, muerte, violaciones y altos niveles de desnutrición nadie derrama ni una sola lágrima.

Una Copa del mundo une a 37 millones de argentinos. Todos gritando en una misma sintonía. Pero ¿Por que debemos esperar 4 años para realmente unirnos?

¿Por que la constante crítica cuando algo no sale bien?

¿Por que jamás vamos a ponernos la celeste y blanca y luchar por la Argentina que tanto amamos?

Cuanto cuesta entender que a una misma hora en todos los hogares, bares, restoranes de nuestro país estamos todos unidos por una misma causa y cuanto cuesta comprender que eso dura hasta que la selección vuelve a casa.

Yo hoy me comprometo a ponerme la celeste y blanca..

No solo cuando juegue la selección de tenis, de hockey, de rugby, de futbol..

Sino todos los días de mi vida.

Amo mi país

Amo mi Argentina.

Amo mi nación.

Y amo haber nacido aquí.

3rd polimodal comments on Brave New World

We are reading Brave New World and this is part of Bokanovsky's Process, where people are created without a mother. In first place, they separate the eggs in Alphas, Betas, Gammas, Deltas and Epsilon. They are put in test-tubes and in incubators. After that they bottle the eggs and in the Social Predestination Room, the lower cast receive less oxygen than the higher ones. That's why Alphas and Betas are the developing ones because their brain receives a huge amount of oxygen.


by Nabila Sebih, Camila Masaguer, Pía Aiquel and Chloé Nougués




-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------





This is a picture of a poster made in Literature class. It describes the different steps followed in the Central London Hatchery & Conditioning Centre to make human beings.
The steps are in a circle because each circle represents the test tubes and the curves of blue sky represent social equality.


by Nicolás Barrera, Mercedes Ramallo and María Lobo




-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------





Brave New World
Central London Hatchery & Conditioning Centre



By Daniel Orderique, Pablo Iramain and Diego Aguilar








------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------





This poster describes briefly what happens in Central London Hatchery and conditioning centre. In this place is where, in Brave New World, human beings are created. They created this way of developing human life, because it's easier, and from one embryo they create 96 human beings.

By Gustavo Sanchez Iturbe, Santiago Baricco and Ramiro Lobo

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



This poster shows the process of Bokanovsky, in Brave New World. It´s divided in four different steps, explained in the poster. This type of creation is really easier for them, from one embryo they obtain 96 human beings!

By Emilia Lobo, Luz Padilla and Joaquín Chemi

Feliz día del Maestro/Profesor!!

Había una vez... Un hombre que tomaba cada día el autobús para ir al trabajo. En la siguiente parada subía una anciana y se sentaba a su lado en la ventana. La anciana abría una bolsa y durante todo el trayecto, iba tirando algo por la ventana. Cada día hacía lo mismo, y un día, el hombre intrigado le preguntó qué era lo que tiraba por la ventana.
- ¡Son semillas! – le dijo la anciana.
- ¿Semillas? ¿Semillas de qué? preguntó el hombre.
- De flores – respondió la anciana - Cuando viajo veo todo tan vacío. Y me gustaría poder viajar viendo flores durante todo el camino, porque sería muy bonito.
- Pero las semillas caen encima del asfalto, las aplastan los coches, se las comen los pájaros... ¿Usted cree que sus semillas germinarán al lado del camino?
La anciana contestó:
- Seguro que sí. Aunque algunas se pierdan, alguna acabará en la cuneta, y con el tiempo brotará.
Así, la anciana siguió con su trabajo... Y el hombre bajó del autobús pensando que había perdido un poco la cabeza. Pasado un tiempo... Cuando el hombre se dirigía al trabajo, al mirar por la ventana vio todo el camino lleno de flores. Se acordó de la anciana, pero hacía días que no la había visto. Preguntó al conductor:
- ¿La anciana de las semillas?
-Pues ya hace un tiempo que murió.
El hombre desde su asiento siguió contemplando el paisaje y pensando que las flores habían crecido y la anciana no había podido ver su obra. De repente oyó a una niña que decía entusiasmada:
- ¡Mira papá! ¡Mira cuantas flores!...

Autor Desconocido

Está claro en la historia que la anciana hizo su trabajo dejando su herencia a todos los que pudieran recibirla, a todos los que pudieran contemplarla, ser más felices y aprovecharla.
Esta historia está dedicada a todos aquellos maestros, profesores, educadores, profesionales de la enseñanza, que hoy, más que nunca, no pueden ver cómo crecen las semillas plantadas, las esperanzas sembradas en el corazón, sobretodo, en los adolescentes que llenan sus clases. Ellos que siguen sembrando sin recoger los frutos y sin gozarse del esfuerzo y la dedicación que siempre valen la pena.
La tarea educativa exige paciencia, saber esperar, volver a empezar no una sino muchas veces..., algo que resulta bastante difícil en nuestra sociedad y nuestro mundo marcado por las prisas y por el deseo de obtener resultados inmediatos.Quien no es un mercenario de la educación, sino que siente y vive con el corazón esta labor, sabrá mantener la esperanza y la ilusión de que en algún momento, quizás después de largo tiempo, esas posibilidades de aprendizaje y de crecimiento se harán realidad.


Feliz día a todos los maestros (11 de septiembre) y profesores (17 de septiembre) y gracias por su trabajo con tanta paciencia de todos los días.

Hemingway's stories

Death is the unavoidable end we all get to, it is the inevitable feeling of “nada”, omnipresent in Hemingway’s stories in which we perceive his true sense of death, in different forms.

The meaning of “nada”, In ‘A Clean Well-Lighted Place’, death is not physical but spiritual. The loneliness that the old waiter and the old man feel is represented as death. Unlike the young waiter, they don’t have anyone waiting at home for them, they are alone and the café stands as an image of light and cleanliness against the dark chaos. The old man and the old waiter don’t want to feel that loneliness, which is why they like going to places like a café where they find order and have company. The old waiter says: “I’m of those who like to stay late at the café… with all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night”. The old men and the old waiter have both lost their hopes and confidence. They feel like they have no one to share the rest of their lives with. They feel lonely, left behind. And the only way for them to keep those thoughts away is by sitting in a café, where there are other people and they don’t feel so miserable. We can realize that there is a relationship of brotherhood between the old waiter and the old man who feel the same way. The old waiter sympathizes with the old drinker of brandy because he is like him: of the kind that need the cleanliness, the light and company of other persons and unlike the young waiter who wants to go home because he knows that someone is waiting for him and he is impatient to get there. But he is only being selfish and has not the slightest conception of what it means for the old waiter and the old man to keep the café open which represents insulation against the dark.

In ‘The Snows of Kilimanjaro’, death is personified, as it approaches Harry: “He had just felt death come by again…It moved up closer to him…so its weight was all upon his chest”. In all the course of the story we can see Harry’s feeling about death. Now that he feels it, he understands the importance of his writing. As he married a wealthy woman, he didn’t feel the need of writing for a living anymore, and now, he regrets it. He knows that he won’t be able to write anymore, and he could have done it a long time ago and written about the things he liked. But it’s too late and he blames his wife for it. Worst of all are the memories of his past life. Liberty, opportunity and Integrity were the qualities which he once owned and now are irrecoverably lost. He was very obsessed with the idea of death and now that it was close, he had lost all curiosity about it. Now time was over and possessive death moves in. Harry has lost hope because he knows that death is waiting for him and he cannot do anything, and he now knows and is aware that he should have written what he liked when he could.

We can also perceive death-symbols like the vultures and the hyenas; the death-image transfers itself from the vultures to this other foul devourer of the dead. Harry finds without astonishment that the image of the hyena is slipping lightly along the edge of the emptiness. “Never believe any of that about the scythe and skull”.

In ‘Hills Like White Elephants’, we can not really see death, but we imagine it. Death is expressed in the future, in a decision. The future of the baby that Jig is carrying in her womb is decided by two people. She only has two options: to have an abortion or not. But if she decides to have the baby, she would put at risk her relationship with the man she loves at the beginning -because at the end, she realizes how selfish and immature he is and how they have a very shallow relationship. So death is the end of a relationship or the death of the baby.

In ‘The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber’, we can see Francis’ death, which is very ironic because he died happily, but all his life he was very miserable, tied to a woman who didn’t love him and who, in the end, kills him. But on the other hand, his death was a happy one because he realized he was not a coward anymore, and with that, he felt very powerful and exultant, although it lasted only for a few minutes. Francis must fight against his wife who does not want him to be self-confident because she is conscious of the consequences that it could have: he would leave her and she would not have the privileges she had for marrying a rich man. Francis must also struggle with his cowardliness which obstructs him from having the respect he deserves form his wife and his friends.

In ‘Now I Lay Me’, the Signor Tenente didn’t want to fall asleep because he was sure that when he did, death would come and take him. “I myself did not want to sleep because I had been living for a long time with the knowledge that if I ever shut my eyes in the dark and let myself go, my soul would go out of my body”. So he started to remember events on his past and he prayed for all the people he saw in that memory and when he finished praying for those people, only then there would be light and he could sleep. He was afraid of darkness which, in this case, represents death in ‘A Clean Well-Lighted Place’.

The way that Hemingway writes is extraordinary because he does not give all the information for the reader, but he makes you think and realize what he is trying to say. There is more to the iceberg than what we see on the surface. For me, it is amazing how he enters upon the theme of death because he mixes different views of it, which is, more importantly, the feeling of being lonely, the fear to have no one waiting for us at home, no one who cares about us or having no one to share our life with. That is a kind of death: not death itself but the feeling we have of being alone in the world.

A selection of poemS *

Punk Rock Music *

Singing the songs I love the most -

Loving God's grace - Praying for you to come back,
Trying not to cry - Looking for an excuse
Dying, Living and Flying.

Many times I tried not to tell you the truth about myself
Many times I thought I could do everything perfectly
This time I am feeling different
This time I am enjoying what I have
Who I am is who I wanna be

Punk Rock music and a History booK
Laying on my bed thinking about everyone else
Reminding myself that I am happy – Darn I am happy!!

Thinking about what I have to do for tomorrow
I find myself living a beautiful adventure
Where there are no rules
Where I am never alone

I fell in love with you, Dear God.
I fell in love with life
Finally it is happening to me,
Lucky brown-eyed girl
This is my time, This is my place

. . . . She likes Papa Roach and Sex Pistols too

My Mother *

Looking for me as a farmer looks for his lost sheep

God chose you to look after me every single day and night
And you brave and full of happiness accepted me
Giving your thankfulness to the sun and the moon for being your companions
always and forever in my upbringing
In the balance between good and evil you
chose to be a disciple of caring

About how much a mom is able to love her child
Not everyone has your strength - not everyone chooses
like you did - And I simply love you because you said YES.

Nine months you suffered from nightmares and insomnia
And another six months you didn't listen to any melody
but my whimsical and annoying crying.
Since the beginning you made me lots of clothes to dress me as a Christmas tree
Until this point you didn't change and I hope you never will.

All along these years you gave me love
and you’ve taught me the art of being better with the passing days.
Since I breathed for the first time you’ve watched after me with your big eyes
That have scared me that much
but at the same time have loved me
In every adventure I have had.

You gave me everything and you spoiled me as every mom does
But you taught me to love from a smile to the stars in the black sky of June
Seventeen years old I am and I appreciate every single day of the year
for having you as my guide in this journey full of fears and joys.
I would never forget your peculiar smell

your healing hugs and your points of view

You gave me everything I have

Thanks to you I am who I am.
I don't want to miss any more days ever again because I wouldn't like it to be the last one
And it would be never be - I know it for sure.

- Written promises -

Open up your soul to what uncertainty is
Always remembering that whatever may happen
You will be able to stand up before him

Or love him every moment of your life now and here.

Living in a strange world for me
I am trying to survive to so much motion
I am trying to learn as I haven't learned before.

I can't do it perfectly,
I can't believe what it is about
The words that I would never speak
are uncertainties to my heart

I wish I lived in an eternal dream.

Deep changes in an infinite direction
It is so hard to understand what it is impossible to understand
I would love to know it all at once
And being perfect to his eyes
But I know that I will find you in each one of my friends

You mean everything to me.

I know that it is true
And I will eternally live
I know that you have always been by me side
And I promise you I will never abandon you

From now to the rest of my life.

The Rose * *

The rose of my dreams with hidden hopes.
The rose with thorns that have hurt my soul along with your departure.
The rose that dies each time you say goodbye
The rose that turns grey each time I cry
The rose that you left me as a signal of oblivion.
The rose that yesterday I threw along with my heart into the empty ocean.
The rose that means nothing at all.
The rose that I thought I loved as I Loved You has just turned into death dash.

¬ A woman , *

A woman waits for you sitting in a chair made of roses
She wishes inside to live today
As she didn't yesterday
A woman whose sight is lost in the horizon
Just trying at least for one day to feel loved

A woman waits with saintly patience for you to pass by
And to notice her presence once in a while
She only wants spontaneity to happen as the rain does
A woman who appreciates herself for what she does
But not for who she is - Never understanding that you don’t love her

A woman waits for you hoping that today you will invite her to dream
She is thinking to herself about the places to go

She does not remember that you will not appear
A woman loves you so much, stupidly crazy about your manners wants to tell you

that . .

Thinking about you she is

Asking herself if you will ever

Kiss her soul with your words.
A woman waits for you with a smile painted on her silent face.

April And Autumn in Grey * -

The place where you were looking for the senseless essence
was nothing more than a spoiled dream
Because the true reason why
You were outstanding from the great mass of people
was to teach me your wretched perfection
You just wanted to remind me of the impurity of my heart.
That is your damn labor.

I am not skin enough to love you
And I am stupid enough to scare you
Blind to the wish of getting away from this illogical reality
Deaf to my yelling just asking for help
Defective and deluded I am
Lonely and irrational I am

I ask God to die drowned in a strange sigh
And to make my tears stop streaming down my face
I am asking destiny to guide me to that magical place
Where peace I would be able to find
And to fly with the wandering souls through the mystical land of eternal happiness
Singing my favorite melody and reaching for the sky

Please tell me, April of my heart so brave that you are
Where is my soul going to go after such precocious end?
Tell me , lovely life of mine , Grey and dark
Why do you punish me with eternal rain?
Tell me my dull autumn full of red leaves
What am I waiting for to go back to my past?
Tell me beautiful death
What do you look like?

What can I do to make you love me just as I am
Defective and Impure
Uncertain and unhappy?

Happy summer days

I can’t jump on my horse as I used to. I can’t bend to milk the cows anymore. There was a time I could do that but many years have passed since and I can’t avoid remembering my grandpa, who could do these things until the day of his death, as I now try to do them.

We seemed to be stuck to him. We even slept in his bed occupying my grandma’s place. There was a special force that did not allow us to separate from him for the month we stayed in Lobería except for his naps when we rode our horses, mowed the lawn and fished in the creek. All our summer holidays, after classes finished, we went with our family to this farm situated in a very little town in the south of Buenos Aires. My parents and sisters only visited my grandparents for some days while Tomás and I spent one third of our holidays there until we joined the rest of the family in Pinamar, the beach resort. We really enjoyed our stay in this countryside town that was not only very far but also quite different from our Tucumán. It was nice to get away from the city for some time but this was not the reason why we loved going to Lobería. The old angels we met there were the real reason.

In the mornings, when we woke up my grandpa was always already awake as he was an early bird. He would persuade us to do some push-ups to start the day with energy which we only sometimes did and if we had gotten up early we would help him feed the calves and milk the cows for breakfast. My grandma would make a delicious lunch and would spoil my brother cooking ``arroz con leche´´ and me baking chocolate cakes for dessert from time to time. After lunch my grandpa, Tomás and I would go to the fields to work the cattle and check the crops and when we got back sometimes I played chess with the old man, who taught me how to do it.
My grandparents came at least once a year to visit us in Tucumán and they stayed for about a month. They so much loved coming here that one year my grandpa came alone and stayed for three months. He was so nice that he made a lot of friends very easily. He went to visit them with his ancient bike which he brought from Lobería (he had another one there). He used it to go everywhere. He taught my sisters how to ride the bike and every Saturday mornings they went to feed the ducks and see the horses in a house near ours.

As the years passed, our stays in Lobería got shorter and we finally stopped going every year. Although we continued seeing our grandpas in their visits we became a bit detached from them as we got older. However, the magical connection between us remained forever.
When I was fifteen, my grandparents moved to Tucumán to have us near them. My grandma had always wanted to do this but the love my grandpa had towards Lobería and his farm didn’t make it possible. They had lived in this little town for thirty years and my grandma had never complained about it. She had supported my grandpa in everything. So he understood it was time to support her in something she really wanted to do and, although it was very painful for him, they left Lobería.

The farewell was really emotive. The entire town went to say goodbye to them. The farm was rented but this didn’t impede my grandpa from going to visit Lobería every year. He slept at a friend’s house. If there was something he didn’t lack, it was friends. And they were real ones. When he rode his bike, everybody waved at him and one of his friends called him ``Curuchet´´, after the famous Argentinean cyclist.

They bought a house near our school so I went to have lunch once a week after class. My grandpa planted some trees and some flowers my grandma chose. They were visited by friends who slept in their house but most of them were grandma’s friends. Almost all of my grandpa’s old friends had already died and the few that were still alive were very sick. On the contrary, he was as healthy as a young man because of the cycling and the push-ups in the mornings. He told me a thousand times the same stories about these old friends he couldn’t see any more and I knew them as if I had seen them in a lot of occasions although I had never met most of them. He really missed them.

When I was in the last year of school my family started having economic problems. We moved to a smaller house but this was not the solution. We had an enormous debt to pay and we would finish in the street if we did not pay it off. My grandpa did not want to sell the farm but he was so generous that he sold it to a family that lived in Lobería and paid the debt.

I finished school and started studying economy. I really enjoyed university life and was doing quite well in the exams. I stopped going for lunch to my grandparents’ but I continued seeing them on Sundays and when they came to visit us. I also continued playing chess with my grandpa when I had time and my grandma did not stop baking the chocolate cake I like so much.

One Sunday we went to have dinner to my grandparents’ house to welcome my grandpa who had just arrived from Lobería. He brought terrible news. The owners of the farm had received an offer from Toco Madera, the well-known timber company that wanted to build a factory in the farm, and were going to sell it. I had never seen my grandpa so sad. All the family was shocked. I shared the bedroom with Tomás and that night I noticed he couldn’t get to sleep. The next morning he went to my grandparents’ house and when he came back he told my parents he would leave the house and move to Lobería. He had talked with my grandpa and as Tomás knew the old man was a friend of the family owner of the farm he told him to speak with them and ask them no to sell the farm as he was going to buy it. He had just graduated with an Agronomy major and his plan consisted in buying the farm with some money he had saved. He would live and work there in order to continue to pay for it. It was not an easy decision but he loved our grandpa so much that he took it. So my grandpa spoke with the owners and they accepted the deal and rejected the offer of Toco Madera.

When Tomás was preparing the luggage the phone rang. It was María, his ex. After he finished the conversation he was shocked. He said María was going to have a baby. This news was like a sudden shower of ice-cold water on my grandpa. Although he was happy to become a great-grandfather, this feeling was overshadowed by the idea that Tomás would not go ahead with his plan and the farm would most probably be sold to Toco Madera. He called the owners and told them the situation. I accompanied him to Lobería to see the creek in which Tomás and I used to fish, the horses we used to ride, the cows we used to milk, the calves we used to feed and the house where my mother and my uncles were raised for the last time. He had the saddest expression I have ever seen and, although he tried not to cry, the tears rolled down his cheeks silently. It was that moment, when I saw his face, which determined the rest of my life. Although I had no idea about working in the fields, I had right before my eyes a marvelous teacher who could teach me and although I would have to leave the rest of the family, my friends and college, I would not see that expression in my grandpa again.

Now I’m reliving my childhood and I’m looking forward to the summer holidays, when my grandchildren come to visit me after the end of classes.

'An Introduction to my Thoughts' - English A2 task by ValeMé

An Introduction to my Thoughts

For a long time they slept in the deepest corner of my mind, sometimes they emerged unconsciously while I had no clue of what they meant. They grew up like in a womb until sixteen years after they came to life with rough edges and a lot of confusion.

It was then when I became responsible for what I said and did; I began to comprehend, discover and define myself and I will never stop doing so until my life comes to an end.

A new chapter has commenced for me in this world, a chapter where transitions take place and many doors open for me to discover new ways.

Nobody knows where these paths may take me; I will lead them into my destiny for better or for worse. Throughout them I shall encounter many challenges, laughter, happiness, love, a lot of pain, and plenty of other emotions, thoughts and feelings. For so it is once more said: My story is yet to be written, this is just the beginning.


A Letter To The World

What is there left for us out in the world?
All the pain and suffering infiltrate my brain.
It seems like Guernica is painted in my head;
Eternal, motionless, unquestionable and unforgivable.
Generation through generation, the world gently weeps,
For I am also causing its death.
Yet I try to help, at least with the least, to cease the pain.
But our elders do not seem to remember, that once they are gone
The future that beholds for their closest ones,
May linger into the darkness of the sky.
And by then time will be lost, and all that was once constructed
Will fall apart like a sand castle under the wind; disintegrate into Infinite molecules that once held our beautiful life.
The breath of nature will fade,
Together with the memories mother earth once held.
So I come to ask myself again, what is there left for us out there?
People seem to live with no values, forgetting what they once believed in, trusted in, and grew up with.
Fighting over nothing, over lost causes, causing pain to those who less deserve it, those who are trying to make it through one more day.
So then I ask the world, where has love gone?
Is killing, fighting and hurting the new meaning for brotherhood, is that what it is worth?
I still have plenty of things to know, learn, understand and teach;
But will I be able to do so if life keeps getting this worse?
Will there be anything for me to leave back in this world that is not a bad memory, not a tragedy, something that has any value at all?
Or is it impossible for our destructive manners ever to stop?
I wonder how many people out there in the world are willing to give a little of themselves to live and let live life as it should be. Can you say you could?


Images From The Past For Those In The Future

It was a cold winter under the branches of the peach, pear and plumb trees, where the colours of the leaves combined to portray a dreamed scenario.

The sound of earth’s smooth, soft, comforting breath took care of reorganizing the beauty of nature. The crisp grass gently accompanied the movement of the air; a substance for which the planet exists. A planet that spins with certain laziness around infinite moderate waves of sunlight; sunlight produced by the light of all times, where cotton surrounded the sun in a perfect amount as to combine with the endless bluish sky.

All made part of a picture that had occurred into someone’s eyes as reality, and later transferred into this persons’ mind as a thought, thought a long time ago. This someone caught raw beauty like no one had done before, not even when it was lost.


Tear Heal

It was one of those days where you wish you were Snow White, just to sleep and sleep and not be distressed by what was going on outside the glass box.

Somehow I had brought the problems upon myself; somehow I needed to process and think what was going on in my life. I wanted to feel sad, angry and melancholic; deep down inside I desired those cold water drops, hidden in the very bottom of my essence, to run down my face just to get me thinking straight, just to put my cheer back in place.

I, as an observer, got my feet back on the ground when I heard the tear drops crush into my green bed cover; that was when my life recovered its path, when I turned back to appreciate the real values of life like the miniscule actions that compile it.

Such a beautiful sound; how wonderful the feeling of feeling and manifesting it through a drop of what is essential in our lives. Water, so clear and pure, healing and refreshing, how it gets the dust and sight of being buried far down out, and brings light back into our eyes as soon as they start their trip down through our flesh and bones and off our prominent and particular features.

In the end I wake up from the so called fairy tale, and take a deep breath that seems like the first, giving me the strength to stand up for myself and confront the outer and inner issues that scared me at first. And as soon as my head makes contact with the soft feathers of my pillow, the sky clears. And before I know it, I am awake to a new and fresh day, to give the world another chance.


Up And Down

Up and down,
Like a rollercoaster ride.
One day up,
The other down.

Hey! I seem to be ok!
Such a pretty day!
Oh, just threw it all away!
Clouds are back and more black!

There goes the swing
Up and down.
Fighting all the way up
Suddenly I’m back on the ground!

I want to fly!
And reach the sky!
You fool!
Don’t you know the gravitational rule?

So what can I do?
When I’m up
I fall back down
As if I had soap on my feet.

It just takes time
to go back up.
And once you’re there
You may fall again.

But keep in mind,
Although up and down,
Ain’t nobody
Keeping you on the ground.

Deceiving Eyes

In my eyes I see
Who I am
And what I want to be.

In my eyes
I a good person
And them great, mysterious.

In their eyes
No good comes at all
When looking at this abstract thing.

In their eyes,
I paint a picture
That is no Van Gogh.

So then I wonder
Are my eyes wrong?
Or do theirs interpret what I am not?

Whose eyes should I believe?
Should I combine both?
Or should I not see at all?


Railway Ecstasies

It’s just amazing how much you can see
If you open your eyes wide
If you look beyond the reflection of you in the glass.

It seems as if you are going fast
But when your mind focuses,
You see beyond the blur of the speed.

-Dad’s teaching him how to ride.
Oh my god!
There is just one wheel on the back!

“Hey granny, what is that!?”
The excitement of her first ride
So much to see, learn, observe, ask about!

The lover that hops on
Waiting anxiously for the last stop,
Where the rest of his heart awaits.

People in and out, in, out, packed up.
Many with buzzing bugs in their ears
Others absorbed in a juicy page of who knows what.

It’s just amazing how much you can see
If you take those minutes from the speed
Just to observe.

My Old Friend Rae

On the seventh of May
My old friend, named Rae
Contacted me
And we met by the lake.

I found out with a start
She had a problem with her heart.
So I tried to support her
But nothing did help her much.

I went to the doctor
and asked him what I could do.
The answer he gave me
Broke my heart in two.

So I waited and waited
Until the day came
When finally my old friend Rae,
Slowly faded away.

In the following days
I missed her so much,
That I cried and prayed
For her soul far away.

Though she is not around anymore,
And time goes by without her,
The memories she left me will guide me
Until we meet again.

A Night of Insomnia

I had finished my dinner, I had already brushed my teeth and I was lying in bed, with my body turned to my right side and all under the blankets, except for my head. I prayed, as every night, and I checked that everything was ok: all the lights off and I could only see two little squares of light: the orange one, telling me where the light switch was, and the red one, of the mosquito device. The tic-tac of the clock never stopped and sometimes I could hear a car passing by. I could still smell the burnt piece of bread of the sandwich I had had for dinner coming from the kitchen.

My mind had a lot to think about, to analyse, to wonder and never find the answers. From one day to another, my cousin Agustín was not behind the telephone anymore. He wouldn’t come to my house to visit us once in a while... And as God had taken him without forewarning, He could take anyone else just in the same way. It was twelve o’clock and I needed to be rested for school the following day. But insomnia doesn’t care… when it gets in my room, it is difficult to get rid of it; very difficult. And it seems that my door is always open, because it finds its way in very often.

I thought about what I had done that day: my grandmothers, my godmother and the Lizondos came home for a barbecue. I remembered sitting next to María and talking about The Little Prince, school, her work. Then the doubles tennis game with friends that we lost, the Coke in the drugstore and then our victory in the volleyball game. It had been a sunny day. Just the same as the one years ago back in my old house.

Green grass, yellow leaves in the old and tall eucalyptus trees and two white chairs in the middle of the garden. The autumn sun was shining and a comfortable breeze made the trees sway a little bit. It was not a big garden, but square, a little surface covered with grass, a small pool and a powerful and invisible force that made things bigger: maybe love, happiness, bonding, comfort. In one chair a little girl of about seven years old and in the other a woman. Grandmother and granddaughter contemplating the bright blue sky, the shining sun, and talking.

Conversation went easy. Grandmothers have always so much to tell… They’ve lived a whole life and they know about mostly everything. What we ask, they answer; whatever happens to us, they know, they’ve been through it all. Grandmother talked, granddaughter listened. Both looking at each other and enjoying the sunny autumn afternoon. A green tangerine was in the old woman’s wrinkled hands. One finger got into it and softly, with all the sweetness possible, the tangerine got an orange-white colour. The green pieces of the crust that protected it from the cold, painful bumps and the world’s indifference were now peacefully lying in a plate on the floor.

Grandmother taught while granddaughter learned. Grandmother made the classic ‘hens’ with the tangerine and the little girl, paying a lot of attention, tried to do the same. She did her best, but difficulty grew stronger and frustration managed to beat her for a while. The girl couldn’t do the ‘hens’ but she was still happy; she was sitting under the sun eating a tangerine and learning.

The breeze caressed the girl’s hair softly, but the sun and the company kept her warm. The first ‘hen’ of the afternoon was about to be eaten. The granddaughter took a deep breath of happiness and the acid tangerine touched her tongue as she swayed in her rocking chair like the trees. Her eyes went small and glazed for a little while, but acid depends on the situation – and this one was sweet. After some ‘hens’ her mouth felt the acid taste but she didn’t mind bacuase it was so nice and warm out there.

Those white chairs in the square garden, the green grass, the yellow leaves and the breeze blowing softly never got out of my mind. Feeling warm in the mid autumn sun is mostly the same as feeling love having acid in your mouth; a comfortable and kind of acid taste.

While I was hearing owls outside my window, the idea of death came to my mind. And I hate it so much when that happens… I tried to think of the happiest times I had had, maybe an event that made me so very happy. But it was difficult to avoid that thought, that sense… The really faded photograph-images of my grandpas appeared. Then a big black and strange shadow engulfed my grandma while Robbie Williams sung in my head: ‘With the blink of an eye the Lord came and asked you to meet. You went to a better place but He stole you away from me’. But I can’t sing this completely yet, as He didn’t steal her away from me – and I am so thankful for that! She knows how to make ‘hens’ with a tangerine, she loves me, I love her, and she still has a lot to teach me, I thought. With great effort my mind finally got away from the black shadow.

I was feeling very tired… after a whole afternoon playing tennis and volleyball, I couldn’t understand how I could still be awake. I yawned… but I didn’t fall asleep. People I miss, people I love, people I admire, and people I haven’t seen for ages. How I need Micaela, how I’d like to see Tomás, to hug, to talk to my cousin once more. Death near again, pushing all the thoughts that were in line but I won this time. My past, my present, my future. My plans, my dreams, fate, life and pains. A whole life represented in front of me, with images, sounds, smells, memories... my life.

How I hated insomnia nights. I would be sleepy the following day; I wouldn’t pay attention in class… So, just when I was insulting insomnia, inspiration knocked on my door. I had two visitors now. The ideas in my head came and went, ran from one side of my head to the other. I sccribbled some letters in my blue notebook with words such as love, peace and the ones adults mention very often nowadays: war, pain and death.

When I had finished, I tried to sleep again, unsuccessfully. So I turned the lights on and I continued the book I had been reading. I wanted to stand up, jump, shout… but it was the middle of the night and not only my family, but all the neighbourhood, was sleeping, even the cat! I wanted to play the guitar… but I couldn’t because of the same reason. I needed to spend all the energy doing something.

Everything had already passed through my head so I started inventing stories. Tomás, who I haven’t seen for ages, walked through the door and sat down on one side of my bed. We talked for a while and slowly, my mind got tired and the story turned boring. Then I didn’t remember what I was telling my friend, so I started over. After chatting for I don’t know how long, I finally fell asleep peacefully. But an hour or two later, the clock that had been bothering all night started to bother again, loudly this time. I got up and looked through the window at the shy sun that was rising from behind the city. Grandma must be up already, doing the cleaning-up of her house or having breakfast. Maybe she is watching the news on TV: war in Iraq, violence in Tucumán, hurricane in México; and definitely thinking of the future awaiting us.

by Valentina Becker

Pics from:

http://www.labspec.co.za/GIF/trees/eucalyptus.gif

http://www.generationterrorists.com/graphics/the_little_prince_011.gif

http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/99/71/22667199.jpg

http://www.geocities.com/happyfreakshow/insomnia.jpg

http://www.employersrated.com/JinxAudio/ImageFiles/VGA/J!NX-MARC-INSOMNIA.jpg